The tree of grief bears the richest fruit. She inspires a palate of inquiry that positions us to find meaning in places previously unseen. Her fruit renders possibility; not promises. Such is the quality of our learning rooted in the soul. If we find pause amidst the breath, therein unfolds scenes becoming, framed by orchestral harmonies interrupting our illusive theatre, calling us towards heart-wisdom.
When I heard the call, its gentle supplication echoed against the caverns of my mind, a mind empty of life-force, a mind resigned. Whispers echoed in my mind asking are you open now? Symphonies of synaesthetic hues and tones infused me with the courage I thought had died with my broken heart. I became deaf to my saboteurs, and within a quieted mind of whispered, sign-less languages of intuition, I submitted to the agony of loss and the ghostly absences that haunted places once familiar. Now, I was now open to my chorus of emotions. Memories transformed into wistfulness, and dispiritedness replaced longing. Somewhere during these cycles, my home became full with wisdom imparted by various teachers and healers. Some spoke of initiation, whilst others narrated the journey of sacrifice, and rites of passage that lifted the veil. When I honoured the pain, the fog dissipated and I glimpsed a new, previously unforeseen path of joy. Grief emptied me of delusion, disillusion and confusion about my purpose and place in this world. With this restored sight, a sense of rhythm in balance with the world inspired a dance down an unmarked path towards deeper perspicacity. And yet, doubt weighted each step of the way asking that I choose the darkness of delusion or the light of insight. Deny the pain and blind the in-sight, or welcome the pain-body and nurture my somatic awareness. Stymied by confusion and guilt, how could I find joy amongst intense grief? It felt like a betrayal. Marked by trauma and stolen prophecies, my wounds granted me entry into a labyrinth of connected consciousness. This signified a profound opening that bestowed upon me a lens which revealed the gradients of color that infuse the world with patterns of beauty. Through the juxtaposition of grief and gift, I found the clarity necessary to cut through my disillusionment with the material world; a fool’s errand deprived of heightened consciousness and deeper awareness. The orientation towards clarity does not render it a constant presence in my life; rather, it requires nurturance and attentiveness. Life demands that we are sustained through an umbilical cord of technological dependence, believing that we are preserved through serfdom disguised as work ethic. Such distractions distort perception and nourish exhaustion, and gradually, the aperture closes and the light of clarity fades. As I turn towards inner healing, there ensues a dance between the shadow and the light. This dialogue between selfhood and otherness, a composition delicate in its rhythms and meter, calls me to create. What could have engulfed me in a black hole of torment sparked a flame of knowing that continues to guide me towards heart-wisdom. When I see the flame, I am reminded to tend my dreams, extract my musings onto the page and follow my creative callings. When the world unfolds as poetry, the written word demands that as both reader and writer, we interpret the languages of the collective soul. This is where my joy resides. ©Sophie Steele
0 Comments
|
AuthorWriter, teacher, and activist working to explode barriers and correct inequity. I aspire to enrich our ecosystems of learning and growth by integrating creativity, healing and wisdom. ArchivesCategories
All
|